


You and I, Do or Die

by stereks_fifth_nipple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae & Fairies, Fairies want Stiles lol, Fluff, Good Friend Scott McCall, Good Peter, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Protective Peter Hale, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Witch - Freeform, briefly, fae, injured peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:05:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16438532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereks_fifth_nipple/pseuds/stereks_fifth_nipple
Summary: “I’m not accusing you, I-“ Scott exhaled out of his nose. He met Peter’s gaze again. “I don’t know what you did but… thank you. I didn’t know what to do and I appreciate you always looking after him.”“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter smiled with his teeth, more menacing than friendly, as he left.“Sure, Peter,” Derek rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”





	You and I, Do or Die

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to let me know what you think and comment what you think should happen next! I'm not even sure what I'm doing yet, so your idea might just inspire me.

The problem with trying to hate Peter, was that it’s impossible for Stiles. After everything that they had been through, the entire pack, Stiles understood Peter just a little too much. He understood what it felt like to be spiraling out of control, what it felt like to be losing everything, and what it felt like to be dead set on protecting the things you care about at all costs.

 

Stiles couldn’t remember a time where he forgot Peter, especially not for three months. He’d like to believe that it’s because he never actually forgot, that somehow the ghost riders were another thing that couldn’t fool him, when in reality, it’s probably just that the magic did its job and he couldn’t remember forgetting because that’s the entire point.

 

After Peter checked in on Derek and Cora to make sure they were alright, Derek returned to Beacon Hills. He didn’t sell the building the loft is in, but got an _actual_ place to live not too far off but still isolated so townspeople don’t hear suspicious howling. Stiles gave him the silent treatment for weeks when he came back.

 

Peter decided to stick around, if only for Malia’s sake.

 

The first time Malia hugged Peter, no one really paid it any attention. Except Stiles. He noticed the way Peter stiffened in surprise, eyes wide but still wrapping his arms around his daughter. Malia didn’t seem to notice the amazed look on Peter’s face as she grabbed Kira and yelled a goodbye to everyone else before running out of Derek’s door.

 

Peter cleared his throat gently and went back to putting together the furniture he just got Malia for when she decides to stay over at the pack house.

 

Stiles couldn’t help smiling as he went back to slicing thin strips of beef for a stir fry.

 

\--

 

It’s not really that unusual for Peter to open the front door of his private apartment only to have Stiles barge in and drop a large stack of books, for school or magic. “Alright, where the hell is my tiramisu, old man?”

 

“Oh, yes, come in, you horrendous heathen.” Peter mutters under his breath before shutting the door.

 

“If those weren’t directions pointing me toward the tiramisu I’ve been waiting for, I don’t want to hear it.” Stiles declares practically jogging toward Peter’s kitchen.

 

“It's not like you need directions, you'll just sniff it out no matter what I do.”

 

“You're doing an awful lot of mumbling today, Peter.” Stiles stated matter-of-factly. “It's not very polite, you know.”

 

Peter gave a thin, forced smile. “Why, I only said how much I love and enjoy your company.”

 

Stiles hummed, too distracted to bother, with a mouthful of dessert.

 

“What is it you're here for, again?”

 

“Well, you remember that time you said you had personal experience with Baku?” Stiles paused very briefly, obviously not expecting an actual answer. “It's time to brain dump for the sake of pack.” He shoved another bite of tiramisu in his mouth (much to Peter’s horror as he began talking again with the food in his mouth). “Now first, I'd like to know if this migratory map is accurate…”

 

\--

 

“That is most definitely not a real word.”

 

“Are you calling me a liar, Lydia?”

 

With the straightest face he could muster considering part of it is crooked, Scott replied, “Well, she ain’t calling you a truther.” Silence gave way to Scott and Stiles’ explosive laughter on the couch in Derek’s new place, along with a sigh from Kira. The show most of the pack was watching was at a very low volume so they could half-ass listen to the intense board game just a few feet away.

 

“Knock it off! Stiles trying to scam his way into 120 points using some sort of- of Pokemon is not a laughing matter.” Lydia said, glaring fiercely.

 

“It’s okay to admit that you didn’t know the word Lyds, you’re a mathematician not an astronomer.” Stiles sounded so smug.

 

“I want the dictionary.” Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder confidently before realizing no one was moving. She snapped her fingers, “Now!”

 

“Oh, Peter darling!” Stiles called to where Peter was reading a book on one of the couches not even twenty feet away from the scrabble players and spectators.

 

Peter lets out a put-upon sigh without even looking away from his book. “Unfortunately, Lydia, ‘syzygy’ is indeed, a word.”

 

Scott shrugged slightly apologetically at Lydia. “Don’t feel so bad, no one’s ever been able to beat him at Scrabble or trivia games. In the fourth grade, he used to read dictionaries and encyclopedias.”

 

“You read dictionaries for fun?” Liam asked with his nose scrunched.

 

Now it’s no secret that Stiles isn’t the nicest person. It’s also no secret he’s _protective_ to say the very least. He and Scott may have had their differences and sorted them out, but that never meant Stiles had to forgive Liam for his part in Scott’s death.

 

“I read dictionaries because I was a ten-year-old with ADHD and a dying mother who needed reading material that would take up long periods of time in the hospital.” He stated flatly and took a long drink of his coffee without breaking his pointed, vicious eye contact with Liam.

 

“Stiles-“ Scott went to intervene before being interrupted by the door flying open.

 

“Peter!” Isaac ran into the room and over to the couch Peter was sat on. He flopped down on the couch with a smug grin in place, “You were right about that paper, I did great and she said that my citations were fantastic and didn’t make her eyes bleed this time.”

 

Peter smirked, “I’m always right.”

 

“Definitely not true.” Stiles argued without hesitation while writing his newly acquired 120 points on the score sheet, clearly over his moment with Liam and back to ignoring his existence. “You thought beheading would solve the gremlin problem and _they grew more heads.”_

Peter squinted at Stiles. “Well you didn’t seem to have any better ideas.”

 

“Uh oh…” Scott muttered. Stiles brought his coffee back up toward his lips and raised his eyebrows at Scott as an invitation to continue. “I hear Derek coming.”

 

Not even ten seconds later Derek was opening the front door and coming in. He sighed rather dramatically. “How did you people get in this time?”

 

Everyone, including Derek, looked at where Stiles sat frozen staring at his coffee halfway to his mouth. He slowly raised his eyes from his drink to look at everyone else. “Oh, come on! You guys suck.” Derek stayed silent and raised one brow. “Okay, in my defense, I… I have nothing.” Stiles shrugged. “We were bored. You should appreciate having a pack who spends time in your home. Out of love. Obviously.”

 

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered the whole way to the bottom of and then up the staircase. “See,” Stiles cheered. “progress!”

 

There was a thud upstairs and then a sharp laugh was pulled out of Peter. Stiles couldn’t find himself to be mad at whatever insult Derek came up with when faced with that laugh.

 

\--

 

“This is so stupid.”

 

“Just because you can’t do something yet, doesn’t mean it’s stupid.”

 

Stiles let out a frustrated groan and dropped into the closest patio chair. He rested his elbows on his knees, so he could drop his face into his hands and rub his eyes aggressively.

 

He heard Peter exhale gently before he felt hands at his wrists uncovering his face. Peter was squatted in front of the chair, any closer and he would be between Stiles’ legs. Peter looked directly into his eyes. “You are too extraordinary to be letting frustration get to you like this.” Stiles huffed, looking away and trying to pull his arms free. “No, hey. Look at me.” Stiles swallowed but didn’t move.

 

“Stiles, please look at me.” When Stiles looked back at Peter his eyes were filled with tears of frustration, though none had fallen onto his cheeks yet. “I know it’s difficult right now, but you just need to be patient. Your magic relies entirely on how malleable you will it to be. You can’t keep telling yourself that you can’t do something because that spark inside you will start to believe it. You’re Stiles Stilinski, since when do you let anyone, including yourself, tell you what to do?”

 

Stiles gave a light watery laugh causing an unshed tear to fall down his right cheek before he quickly wiped his face against his sweatshirt covered shoulder. “Have you ever considered teaching Scott and Derek how to give pep talks?”

 

“The gift would be wasted.” Peter tried to say seriously but couldn’t help the soft smile that graced his lips upon seeing Stiles smile again.

 

Peter stood gracefully while simultaneously sliding his grip from Stiles wrists to his hands and pulling him up. “Now, try again. This time with a little more conviction.”

 

\--

 

In the same way that Isaac tentatively got used to Derek being a constant in his life after getting over the fear of him leaving again, Isaac also got more used to Peter being a large part of his life, too.

 

Then there was Lydia. Logically, Lydia knew that Peter had lost nearly his entire family and spent six years of his life being conscious mentally but never physically. She knew that he was out of his mind and hurt, that he was doing what he thought was justice. She couldn’t help but hold a grudge, even with that understanding.

 

Stiles could see it in the way she tried to conceal a twitch of her lip, the lightest of snorts, she was adjusting and getting used to Peter’s, _the real Peter’s,_ presence.

 

\--

 

Stiles heard the footsteps before he heard the voice, which was the only thing that prevented him from banging his head against the inside of the McCall’s fridge while reaching for a Sprite.

 

“Liam is playing in his first game as a Junior this Friday.” Scott mentioned casually while leaning against the counter.

 

Stiles pulled the tab on the Sprite and muttered an unenthusiastic, “That’s wonderful.” Scott watched him quietly and carefully until he gave in. “Okay, fine, I’ll take the bait. What?”

 

“Are you ever going to forgive him?”

 

“No.” It was said simply and without hesitation.

 

“Stiles.” Scott’s face softened as he sighed out his best friend’s name. “It’s okay now-”

 

“It’s not okay, Scott!” Stiles hated the crack in his voice when he raised it. “It’s not fucking okay. I wasn’t there, Lydia was gone, and you needed someone.” Stiles lowered his voice some. “He’s your beta and you needed him, but all he could think about was himself and his love life and you _died_ for it.”

 

Scott looked a little bit close to tears. “Stiles, I love you, and I love how loyal and protective you are, but you can’t stay angry forever.”

 

“Yes, actually, I can,” Stiles sniffed. “And stop crying, blubber butt, I’ve had enough of that this week.”

 

“You know that I don’t blame you for choosing to save your dad, right? Is that what this is about?”

 

“No, Scott, I know that.” Stiles said weakly.

 

Scott carried on anyway. “I… I should’ve listened to you when it happened. I don’t blame you for that, any of that. Okay? So, if that’s part of the reason you hate Liam, I’m sorry.” Now he was crying a little bit.

 

“Oh, God _damnit_ , Scott,” Stiles cried out. “I tell you not to do one thing! I tell you not to cry! One job! And what do you go and do?!” He’s crying too now, and they’re meeting somewhere in the middle, and Scott’s arms are crushing him, and he can’t really breathe or see, but it’s all okay.

 

“I know, Scott, okay?” Stiles said with his face in Scott’s neck. “None of my anger toward Liam is because of you.”

 

“I just miss you doing things with all of us.” Scott sighed. “All you do is hang out with Peter now.”

 

“If this is some elaborate plan to guilt trip me into hanging out with you guys more, I have to say it’s working.” Scott shoved Stiles away with a laugh.

 

They both sobered up quickly. “Please, come to the game, Stiles.”

 

“Who says I don’t have to head back to the mountains before then? There's a lot of stuff a young spark needs, you know.”

 

“Your dad already told me you don’t go back until next week.” Scott sighed, “Fine, but you asked for it.” Then he was clearing his throat and-

 

“No! Scott, no sad eyes!” Stiles yelled and covered his eyes. “That’s cheating!”

 

“Stop being stubborn!”

 

“Never!”

 

\--

 

The sound of a key in the lock of Peter’s apartment isn’t even surprising, even though Peter has no idea when that little brat had a key made.

 

“Guess what I brought for my favorite douche-wolf,” Stiles called.

 

“Peace and quiet?” Peter guessed, turning to the next page in the poetry collection he’s reading.

 

Stiles snorted, “Not likely.”

 

When he came in the room he was carrying large canvases and a bag that reads ‘ _Michelle’s Art Supplies’_. Peter’s heart started thumping heavily in his chest. “Why did you bring me those?”

 

Stiles was smiling so gently. “I went to Beacon Hills’ annual art show this year. There’s a painting by a P. Hale that they have apparently displayed every year for the last seven years.”

 

Peter inhaled sharply. “And what makes you think I painted it? My family was quite large.”

 

“I don’t know anyone else who could somehow manage to paint a landscape and broadcast such intense emotions loud and clear with absolutely no words or explanation.” Stiles set everything on the table and shrugged. “You don’t have to talk about it, or show me, or even use these. I just thought you should know… you deserve your passions.”

 

Peter’s face remained stony and he turned back to his book. “Is that all you came for?”

 

The line of his shoulders visibly grew more tense upon hearing Stiles pad over to him. He looked like he stopped breathing when Stiles very carefully bent and wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders. “I’ll see you later, Peter.”

 

Peter tried to keep reading after Stiles left but found himself reading the same sentence over and over without comprehending it. His eyes eventually landed on the supplies sitting innocently on the table across the room.

 

\--

 

Peter somehow managed to look even more menacing with a broken leg. “Absolutely not.”

 

“Peter,” Derek sighed. “She broke your leg and it isn’t healing. She fractured Isaac’s eye socket. She isn’t going to stop until she gets what she wants, this is the only way to get close enough-“

 

“Stop talking before you anger me further.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “This has got to be one of your worst ideas to date.”

 

“It wasn’t my idea.” Derek said, clearly not impressed.

 

Peter turned to Stiles, as much as he could while leaning heavily on a crutch in front of the couch. “This was _your_ idea?!”

 

“Well if we let her think she has what she wants, then we can get close enough to-“ The sound of Peter’s crutch colliding with the living room wall quickly shut Stiles up. Peter breathed harshly out of his nose, and even though Derek, Lydia, and Scott were the only other ones in the room, Peter felt too caged in. They are all idiots, apparently, and it’s too much.

 

“I’m coming, too.”

 

“No,” Stiles instantly protested. “We’ve been through this, your leg can’t be moved too much. It still hasn’t started healing and you need to have it set properly when it does.”

 

“I am not arguing with anyone about this. If you’re going, I’m going.” Peter glared at the other people in the room. “Because apparently, we aren’t out of the phase of running into situations half-cocked, yet.”

 

“There isn’t anything else left for us to try, we’re running out of time.” Lydia snapped.

 

“This is ridiculous, Peter, just lay down. We’ll be back soon.”

 

“Stiles,” Peter growled. “I’m not laying down.”

 

“We need a minute.” Stiles was dangerously close to snapping at everyone, clearly getting frustrated. Good. He deserved to be frustrated, in Peter’s mind.

 

After Lydia, Derek, and Scott fled, Stiles pulled Peter closer to him by his hands. Peter almost pulled his hands back, but he was passed the point of cringing when one of the runts touched him now. And far be it for him to tell Stiles not to.

 

“You know I can’t let you go alone.”

 

“I’m not going to be alone.” Stiles said.

 

“Fine, I can’t let you go with someone who has no experience in dealing with this.”

 

“Yeah, look where that experience got you yesterday, Peter. She almost snapped your leg off.” Stiles countered. Peter tried to pull his hands away from Stiles. Instead he strangely almost swayed toward the ground and Stiles had to hold onto him.

 

“Just think, what could she do to you if she can do that to a wolf. You can’t just run in and wave your hands around to magically fix this, Stiles. Please, stop trying to stop me.”

 

Stiles looked sadly at Peter. “I’m sorry, Peter.” He whispered before turning Peter’s hands palm up.

 

Just before Peter fell, he saw purple dust in his own palms, and then felt nothing except Stiles guiding him to fall onto the couch.

 

\--

 

“I have apologized to you so many times.” Stiles whined at where Peter continued to ignore him while playing chess with Isaac.

 

Isaac gave him a sympathetic look before moving his bishop, unknowingly right into the range of Peter’s rook. They had been at Peter’s place for at least an hour.

 

Peter continued to ignore Stiles, instead moving his chess piece to exactly where Stiles assumed he would. He hadn’t spoken to Stiles in nearly a week, not since Stiles knocked him unconscious to help chase down that particularly mayhem causing witch.

 

“Oh my God,” Stiles groaned dramatically, shoving his face into a pillow at the same time. “You spiteful asshole, what will it take for you to talk to me again?”

 

Peter huffed out of his nose and made a motion for Isaac to take his turn. Isaac was only just learning to play and looked panicked at the pressure.

 

“You were _injured_ , Peter! What did you want me to do?”

 

“I wanted you to not go through with the stupid plan in the first place.” Peter snapped. “Or to at least bring me along with you so the life wasn’t siphoned out of you.”

 

Isaac sighed, not sounding truly annoyed at all. “I’m just going to go.”

 

All three of them were quiet as Isaac got up and grabbed his jacket and phone. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.” The door clicked shut softly after him.

 

“Peter,” Stiles murmured. He tried to meet Peter’s eyes but Peter wasn’t paying attention. “I am sorry. I know how shitty that was to do to you, but I didn’t want you hurting yourself further.”

 

Peter inhaled slowly like he was thinking. “You can’t”

 

“I know-“

 

“No, Stiles. I mean it.” Peter stated firmly. He looked Stiles straight in the eyes. “You can’t do that to me again. I can’t not help and I can’t wake up not knowing where everyone is or what’s going on. Okay?”

 

“Okay.” Stiles agreed softly.

 

The eye contact was maintained for a few moments before Peter sighed again, probably for the hundredth time that week, and opened his arms up. Stiles was up and crawling into them before he even thought about it.

 

Peter exhaled over the top of his head and squeezed him tighter.

 

\--

 

 

The shield was an accident. Accident might not be the best word; the shield was a reflex. One minute, Stiles sees a blur headed toward Kira’s face and suddenly there’s a light around her and whatever the object that might have hit her was, it was bouncing off and headed the opposite way.

 

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaimed while flailing back from where he had apparently thrown up a barrier around Kira. Malia picked up the Sprite can she had tossed across the yard toward Kira that was now scorched.

 

“Well, that was unexpected.” Isaac said.

 

“Thank you, for the helpful observation, Isaac.” Stiles snarked.

 

“So, what exactly was that?” Scott asked.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know what just came from you?” Lydia pressed.

 

“No.”

 

“Has this happened before?” Malia asked.

 

“No.”

 

“I wonder what triggered it.” Lydia pursed her lips while observing Stiles.

 

“Well, if I knew we wouldn’t be standing around wondering about the origin of all things magic. Could we just stop and go back to the whole relaxing day off thing?”

 

“Why didn’t the light surround you, too?” Malia asked. “You were standing right next to Kira. If something surprised you enough to defend her, why didn’t you defend yourself?”

 

“Okay, that’s it.” Stiles huffed and started walking toward the sliding patio door leading to inside of Derek’s house.

 

“Where are you going, Stiles?” Scott called.

 

Stiles shrugged without looking back even though he only had one place, or person, in mind.

 

\--

 

It hurt so much.

 

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

 

“… meditating but…”

 

“What exactly did…”

 

Everything felt hollow, like his chest had been carved out.

 

“… supposed to be working on…”

 

At the same time there was a crushing weight that was dragging him to the center of the Earth and he couldn’t figure out how to move his limbs to pull himself away.

 

“… alright now. Stiles…”

 

His entire body was surrounded by stillness that chills his body.

 

“… back to me, please.”

 

That voice. That voice is so much warmer than the torrent of sensations that have been surrounding him.

 

“Sweetheart, I need you to come back.”

 

How does he grasp onto that one strand of warmth?

 

“Listen to me, I know you can hear me. I need you to follow my voice, Stiles.”

 

Stiles. He is Stiles. He needs to focus.

 

“That’s it, you’ve got it.”

 

Stiles inhaled on a sob as his vision focused and the white that he was seeing turned into warm colors that eventually came in to focus. Peter was sitting on the coffee table in front of Stiles with a neutral look, but the crease between his brows gave away his concern.

 

“Stiles, you need to keep breathing.”

 

He exhaled and drew in a shuddering breath while attempting to calm himself. Looking around, the pack’s worried faces were hovering around the edges of the room, only causing his anxiety to heighten. Peter inhaled the scent sharply and moved to stand, arms going around Stiles and lifting him while he did. After Peter got Stiles’ legs around his waist Stiles instantly wrapped his arms around Peter and buried his face in his neck.

 

“It’s alright,” Peter whispered in his ear while rubbing his back. He lifted his head, “Runt, where’s his phone?”

 

There was rustling and then he felt himself being carried and heard the front door open. The next thing he processed was being buckled into Peter’s car. “Where are we going?” He asked, barely realizing what he was asking or even raising his voice, but he knew Peter heard him.

 

Peter leaned back once he got Stiles buckled and looked him over carefully. “I’m taking you home with me, I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

 

Stiles dropped his head and let his forehead lean on Peter’s shoulder. His voice came out raspy when he whispered, “It wasn’t supposed to feel like that.”

 

“We’ll talk to Deaton this week, okay? If that doesn’t get us anywhere then we’ll find someone else.” Stiles nodded weakly.

 

Peter stepped back and shrugged out of his jacket before spreading it over Stiles like a blanket. “Close your eyes, we’ll be there soon.”

 

\--

 

“Why is it always me?” Stiles moaned.

 

“Apparently, they think you look like a beautiful little woodland creature,” Isaac snickered.

 

“Oh my God, stop.”

 

“I have to agree, Stiles,” Peter said from where he was slumped against the back of the couch. “You could certainly pull off being a marvelous little woodland creature.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Laugh it up.” Stiles glared. “All of you are going to be sorry when I’m kidnapped and never seen again, because it will be your fault.”

 

“Never seen again, huh?” Derek perked up. “How do we contact the fae?”

 

Scott smiled, “Alright, alright, you’ve had your fun. Now we need to figure out ideas on how to get them to leave again.”

 

“We-“

 

“Without giving them Stiles!”

 

Isaac closed his mouth again.

 

“Forget it. I quit. I am going to walk right into the forest and let the fae take me. I belong to the forest now.”

 

“Stiles, you can’t just walk into the forest and leave us, come on, you’re the plan maker.” Kira said. “You can’t blame the rest of us for not having any ideas. Besides, we all know Isaac is your favorite and that’s why he pushes to get away with everything.” Isaac had the decency to look bashful.

 

“Kira,” Stiles started with a contrite look on his face. “They gave me a flower crown. They said it is a courting gift. They are trying to woo me! What plan, exactly, am I supposed to come up with, here? Because let me tell you, I am a little lacking in experience in the department of politely rejecting _the fae!_ ” He sounded a little hysterical by the end.

 

Peter sighed and got up from the couch. “I’m bored. Have fun solving your little problem.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter. “I am so glad that the fae wanting me to join the rest of their barely cognitive, practically drugged human ‘pets’ is of so little concern to you, Peter.”

 

Peter shrugged, and Stiles gave him the finger as he left.

 

\--

 

“Alright,” Derek crossed his arms, standing next to Scott. “What did you do?”

 

Stiles was sleeping on the couch in the loft with someone’s jacket tucked over him and his shoes neatly placed on the ground.

 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to this time, care to clue me in?”

 

“We got to the alcove with the fairy circles and the fae were fleeing.” Scott said. “They were actually terrified, and they told us they would leave the spark alone as long as we kept ‘the wolf’ away from them.”

 

“I don’t know about you,” Peter drawled as he stood. “But if my best friend were under threat of being kidnapped and drugged, for the purpose of being the fae’s… object of pleasure, as they so _nicely_ put it, I would be a little more appreciative and a little less accusatory.”

 

“I’m not accusing you, I-“ Scott exhaled out of his nose. He met Peter’s gaze again. “I don’t know what you did but… thank you. I didn’t know what to do and I appreciate you always looking after him.”

 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter smiled with his teeth, more menacing than friendly, as he left.

 

“Sure, Peter,” Derek rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

 

\--

 

Stiles was beginning to associate the animal clinic with all things bad. So much that has happened in those walls wasn’t under good circumstances. Now this.

 

“If your shields aren’t covering you but they are covering other people, and you got lost in such a negative meditative state, I’m guessing your problem stems from yourself,” Deaton said. He had paused from where he was labeling things, actual supplies it looks like, and putting them away when Stiles mentioned his problem.

 

“What, like the whole ‘the spark only works when you believe in yourself’ thing? I don’t believe I can or something?”

 

“Not quite,” Deaton said, his smile just the wrong side of pityingly. Great. “I think this might have more to do with your mental health and reactions to passed traumas. I’m not a psychologist, and the supernatural can have so little to do with human science, but I think this is a matter of not trusting yourself, blaming yourself, and possibly feelings of… not deserving the protection, and so on, for yourself.”

 

Stiles swallowed so loudly that his throat clicked in the silence of the concrete room. “So, my spark is displaying signs of survivor’s guilt? That’s… great.”

 

“Your magic isn’t actively attacking your physical self, so I don’t think it’s a concern on a time crunch. This isn’t a problem that can be ignored and shoved aside, however. One of the main differences between a druid and a spark is that a druid’s inclination toward magic isn’t the _basis_ of that magic, the basis is always the same. The same materials, words, motions, and more. A spark like you has no limitations, but because of that, your basis is yourself. Your mind.”

 

“How do I fix this?” Stiles asked.

 

Deaton looked apologetic as he shook his head before moving his shoulder up in a slight twitch. “I can’t tell you that, I wish I could. I think this is something only you could possibly know how to fix.”

 

\--

 

It happened suddenly.

 

Isaac is fast, faster than everyone except maybe Peter. When the wolves are screwing around or training, Isaac is hard to catch which makes it hard to beat him. He’ll wear you down until he has the opportunity to strike.

 

So, no one expected the pained yelp Isaac let out while sparring with Liam a few feet away from where the pack was sprawled around Derek and Peter, who were talking while grilling food.

 

There was a yelp from Isaac, and then there was a blast- a blast of incredibly fast wind that was gone as soon as it came. Liam was thrown through the air and he hit an old brittle tree so hard that it broke. Isaac was still cradling his arm when he looked in shock toward the pack.

 

Everyone watched as Stiles jerked back form the scrutiny, but the strangest part was his eyes. His eyes were a foggy grey instead of their usual amber. They looked like storms and they just got angry the more his heartrate went up.

 

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Stiles voice sounded hoarse as he took a step back, but his eyes looked like they were getting cloudier and his heartrate kept spiking and raising. The pack was deadly still.

 

“Stiles,” Peter called, setting down his tongs slowly. “You need to calm down, now.”

 

“I can’t,” Stiles gasped, “I don’t know how. It just- I heard Isaac and I panicked.”

 

“I know,” Peter said, holding his hands out in a calming motion. “Isaac is okay, though, look. He’s just fine, they were just playing. I need you to calm down before someone else gets thrown through the air and sustains a little more damage than Scott’s runt just did.”

 

Stiles bit his lip, and he looked like he was trying.

 

“Stiles,” Isaac whined, and Stiles stormy eyes flicked toward him. The werewolf stepped toward him and reached a hand out. “Please.”

 

The pack watched as Stiles took a ragged inhale, the raging storms in his eyes started to calm at the same rate that his heart slowed back down. Before they were entirely brown again, Isaac lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the human.

 

As the magic left Stiles, it felt like an adrenaline crash and he felt his knees buckle, but Isaac only had to tighten his arms to ensure he didn’t fall, and they both lowered to the ground. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Stiles.”

 

“Alright,” Derek’s voice startled the pack. “Let’s take this inside to eat.”

 

Everyone started gathering anything they brought outside in the first place while Peter watched over the two of their packmates that are still locked in a tight embrace. Liam looked apologetically at Scott while he grabbed a platter to head inside.

 

Derek paused by Peter on his way inside, “Why don’t you see if he wants to take a nap upstairs? He’ll probably be tired from that and he’s probably also a little freaked out right now.”

 

Peter nodded and started toward where the beta was still whispering to Stiles while the human shook where he was clinging to Isaac.

 

“Come on, guys,” Peter said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

 

Isaac’s eyes flickered toward Peter before he tightened his grip on Stiles and stood up while holding him. “I’m staying with him.” It was a statement, but Peter still nodded and led them away.

 

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Stiles muttered. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Sh, it’s okay,” Isaac soothed, as he rubbed his hands up and down Stiles’ sides. “We’re gonna go lay down, okay?”

 

Peter stopped at the bottom of the stairs and watched as Isaac carried the Stilinski boy to the guest room. When they turned the corner, he left and went to find everyone in the living room.

 

“So…” Scott exhaled. “We’re going to have to get Stiles the resources he needs to learn more about his spark.”

 

“We should have known this was coming,” Lydia said. “He was already throwing up shields for pack members, and he’s extra protective of Isaac, especially when it comes to physical injuries.” That hung in the air for a moment before she added on, “Not to mention, with everything we’ve all been through… He’s probably not only paranoid but suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder, we probably all are.”

 

“Well, rule number one,” Mason counted off one finger. “Don’t touch Isaac.” Liam glared at him. He tapped a second finger, “Rule number two, don’t go within a ten-foot radius if your name is Liam.”

 

Liam’s glare intensified but before he could say anything Derek cut in. “Guys, we’re going to figure this out. If anyone can find a way to control newly acquired magic, it’s Stiles.”

 

\--

 

When Stiles woke up for the second time that day, he was unbearably warm. Like, he was surprised he wasn’t sweating. When he worked up the will to open his eyes, he discovered the reason for the warmth was probably the two werewolves in his bed. Isaac was directly in front of him, his chin was above Stiles’ head as if at one point Stiles was tucked under it, and Stiles was facing his chest. He seemed to still be asleep, because when Stiles started wiggling he didn’t move.

 

Scott on the other hand, squeezed Stiles from where his arms were wrapped around him from behind. He shifted a little as he pulled his best friend tighter to him and his voice was raspy when he spoke, “Go back to sleep, Stiles.”

 

“Is… Is Liam okay?” Stiles asked quietly.

 

“Everyone’s fine Stiles, he’s okay. You didn’t use any excessive force. It’s okay.”

 

Stiles was quiet for a moment before he whispered, “I’m sorry, Scott.”

 

“For what?” Scott snorted. “For protecting Isaac in the spur of the moment? No on is upset or angry, and no one blames you for flinging Liam. Even Liam was guilty over hurting Isaac’s arm and panicking you.”

 

Stiles reached up and gripped his best friend’s arm, his _brother’s_ arm, where it was pressed against his chest.

 

“Go back to sleep, Stiles.”

 

\--

 

Peter was the first one to wake up and actually get out of bed the next morning. Being the truly, absolutely altruistic, person that he is, he decided he ought to start making French toast for everyone else.

 

The quiet was nice. Derek came in for coffee and just quietly sat there while Peter cooked, quietly thanking Peter when his uncle put a plate of food in front of him. Lydia was next, also first going for the coffee pot. Lydia’s French toast came with powdered sugar and freshly cut strawberries, earning him a surprised look and a pleasant smile. “Thanks, Re-Pete.”

 

“When will you learn that it doesn’t annoy me?”

 

“See, I think it does,” She said as she popped a strawberry in her mouth and hopped up on one of the breakfast bar’s stools.

 

“One day it just might,” Peter bared his teeth in a savage smile. “You should hope it doesn’t.”

 

Derek snorted and huffed a laugh down at his food.

 

“Is something funny, nephew?” Peter’s eyes narrowed and he pointed a spatula at Derek, before realizing how domestic that might look and lowering it.

 

“Just the fact that you think anyone would believe you might hurt someone Stiles cares about,” Derek smirked up at him.

 

Peter never got the chance to respond because there was a shriek from the bedroom, followed by laughter before finally coming to, “Put your cold feet on me _one more time_ , and see what happens, Stiles!”

 

“Oh, yeah? What’s gonna happen, Scotty?” Stiles taunted, muffled but clear to the wolves in the room.

 

“Hey, Lydia,” Scott yelled loud enough for humans to hear. “Remember how you wanted to guess Stiles’ real name? Well it’s- oof-“ There was a small thud before there was another louder thud on the hardwood floor.

 

“Idiots.” Lydia muttered, except it sounded fond and content instead of irritated.

 

\--

 

“What about the Cliffs of Moher?” Stiles asked while he moved the perogi onto the island counter.

 

Peter huffed a laugh and checked on the kielbasa. “We cannot go to Ireland and leave the pack to fend for themselves. I can only imagine what we’d come back to.”

 

“What if it didn’t come down to the pack? Would you go with me then?” Stiles asked casually, but Peter could tell he was watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I-“ Peter got cut off by his phone ringing. “Hold that thought.”

 

Stiles huffed as Peter left the room. How hard is it to just get an answer to a simple hypothetical question?

 

He started putting all the hot pans on the island with the tray of pierogi for easy serving purposes. Everything smelled great, and the food was the least Stiles could do considering Peter was always feeding him.

 

One of the pans Peter had been handling was a lot hotter than he expected, though, and his palm made full contact before he cried out and let go of it. It sent the food flying everywhere and hit the counter before falling to the ground. On the way down, the pan happened to knock into a vintage bottle of whiskey that looked like it was a gift that was on the counter, and it fell to the kitchen floor, too.

 

Stiles clutched his flaming hand to his chest and Peter came rushing around the corner. He froze when he saw the whiskey bottle smashed on the ground.

 

“Peter, I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. “I was just trying to-“

 

“Trying to what?” Peter cut him off, voice cold. Stiles felt his joints lock up in response to Peter using that voice with him, as if the chill was real and invading his skeletal system.

 

“I wanted to get everything ready while you were on the-“

 

“I don’t care what you were trying to do. I don’t care what you’ve been trying to do. You shove yourself into whatever aspect of my life you can without permission. I don’t remember ever even telling you to come over, _do you_? Any of the times you’ve ended up over here? I tolerate a lot, from the pack, from you. I don’t need this, too. So, maybe, from now on whenever your little friends get bored of you and your lack of control- of both your mouth and your life- you should find someone who actually cares to listen to it.”

 

“Peter,” Stiles lip wobbled.

 

“I’ve listened to enough from you for a lifetime up to this point don’t you think?” Peter smiled cruelly before gesturing to the door with a sardonic sweep of the arm. “You should probably leave my apartment.”

 

“It was just an accident,” Stiles said, his eyes were beginning to water, but the smashed bottle made Peter feel things he didn’t know how to react to anymore. He lashed out.

 

Peter slammed his hands into the counter, wolfed out face angry as Stiles had ever seen it directed at him, and roared, “Leave.”

 

He jumped back in shock and couldn’t help the one tear that fell. He scrubbed it away as fast as he could with his uninjured hand. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out, and he fled the kitchen to grab his jacket off the back of Peter’s couch before grabbing his shoes.

 

He tried keeping in tears as he was lacing up his Converse, but all that resulted in was a silent sob wracking his chest. He thought Peter more than tolerated him. He thought Peter was his tether to control throughout this entire experience. That he cared for him. That maybe it could be more.

 

It was too difficult to tie his shoes with one hand, and the other hurt _so_ bad, he just tucked the laces into the sides of his shoes so he could get out of there before he really started crying like something pathetic that Peter would hate.

 

Stiles shut the doot as quietly as he possibly could on the way out and rushed down the stairs so he could get to his Jeep. When he was sitting he looked down at his right hand and all of his fingers were pink, but his palm was a furious red. It felt like it was on actual fire even though his palm was no longer resting on the heat. The air seemed to make it worse but his t-shirt felt like a shredder on the sensitive skin when he tried to tuck it into his clothing.

 

He inhaled and exhaled as slowly as he could to calm himself, but each breath came with hiccoughing gasps.

 

Within a few minutes he had on hand on the wheel and he was driving. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to change gears on the way home, he didn’t know if his right hand could take that.

 

When he got home, rather than look up the care for a burn on the hand like he probably should have, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed into his mattress with a shudder.

 

\--

 

Waking up, his hand felt worse than it had last night. The skin felt like he was still holding the too hot pan, it absolutely burned, and it felt pulled tight, dry. Movements tugged and inflamed the injury further.

 

He could do this.

 

Stiles showered with his hand out of the water, which wasn’t that bad. He could use bodywash and shampoo like that. Drying off with one hand was a little harder. Pulling on jeans was the worst. His entire morning routine took a little longer than usual, but he still got to brew his coffee before he left. He didn’t even want to think about how he was supposed to take notes today.

 

Driving today was as difficult as yesterday, apparently it would take longer than usual to adapt to the injury than he expected. Stiles was just hoping werewolf noses wouldn’t be able to smell or sense anything. Hopefully, his hoodie sleeves were long enough to conceal his hand a little, but not all the way cover and hurt himself further.

 

The parking lot was full of cars, but none of them familiar except for Lydia’s. No dirtbike, so it looked like he was safe from Scott for now.

 

The cool breeze was either the best or the worst feeling on his hand, and he couldn’t tell which it was, as it throbbed to the beat of his pulse.

 

Stiles’ heart ached. Even when he wasn’t actively thinking about Peter, it ached like he lost this huge part of his life, of himself. His eyes felt tired, like there were bags the size of Lydia’s Coach purse hanging under them. Joey, a nerdy guy he’s known since the second grade waved at him like he does every morning but today Stiles couldn’t manage more than a nod. He tried, he really tried, but the muscles that are supposed to lift the corners of his mouth were frozen and stiff. Stiff like his hand that won’t stop burning and itching. He probably should have iced this last night. How do you treat burns?

 

Peter would know.

 

Peter won’t be taking care of him anymore.

 

The combination lock on his locker wasn’t as hard as he expected, easy enough with one hand. All he had to do was get through the first three classes of the day, all without the pack, and then he can use them to cheer himself up at lunch.

 

\--

 

He didn’t realize the amount of writing that he would have to do before lunch. _It hurt._

 

Everything hurt.

 

The hallways leading to the cafeteria were loud and it worsened his pounding headache. He couldn’t catch a break.

 

Lydia and Scott were already waiting at a table for him, and the other pack members were a mix between running later than them or not having this lunch period. Scott’s goofy grin when his best friend caught his attention brightened his day just a little bit.

 

His grin faltered the closer Stiles got. “What’s wrong?”

 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, pretending to be oblivious.

 

“I mean,” Scott raised an eyebrow with attitude. “why do you smell anxious and sad?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “College applications. Haywire powers. High school in general. Pick one.”

 

Scott gave Stiles a flat look. “As if I would even kind of believe that.”

 

“I mean, you are pretty gullible, remember that time in fifth grade when I told you-“

 

“Stiles!” Scott interrupted with a blush before glaring at him.

 

“No one is going to fall for your little diversion act, so you may as well spill,” Lydia sighed, picking at her fingernails, but her eyes were also flitting from his dark circles to his hunched shoulders. “You look pitiful. I feel a need to tuck you into bed. I don’t tuck people in. So, are you going to tell us, or should we guess?”

 

“It’s not even that big of a deal,” he muttered, before dropping his eyes to look at his food. He used his left hand to pick up his fork and shove a bite of macaroni and cheese in his mouth. Maybe that would stop them from interrogating him.

 

Scott’s eyes narrowed slightly, just for a second, before he looked up at Stiles again. Stiles could feel his heart start pounding in his chest and his body felt hotter the way it always does when people were catching on to something he doesn’t want to talk about. “You aren’t left handed or ambidextrous,” he states. “And you’re starting to get more nervous. Why are you using your left hand, Stiles?”

 

“In an attempt to become ambidextrous since I am not, as you so kindly pointed out, I’ve decided to just jump into it and-“ Stiles cried out in pain as Scott reached across the table and grabbed his right hand over his sweatshirts sleeve.

 

Lydia stood gracefully but swiftly from her seat and walked around the table to snatch Stiles’ sleeve and pull it up his arm. After initially yanking his hand off of Stiles’ at the pain, Scott was out of his seat in seconds to grab Stiles’ forearm and ease his pain.

 

“You and I have two very different definitions of ‘not a big deal,’ Stiles.” Lydia muttered. She brushed her thumb as gently as she could along the outskirts of the burn, but he still winced slightly. “Stiles, this is blistering in the middle. This is a second-degree burn. Why the hell haven’t you gone to get this checked out?”

 

Stiles shrugged again. Both Scott and Lydia dropped his arm but remained hovering. “I just touched a pan that was too hot, it’s fine. My dad will worry over nothing.”

 

Scott practically twitched.

 

He grabbed Stiles by the bicep and pulled him up. “Hey, hey, what gives? Hands off the merchandise. Alright, alright! I’m standing.” Stiles huffed.

 

“We’re going to my house right now,” Scott looked at him seriously. He never let go of Stiles’ arm even as he grabbed both of their bookbags in the other hand. “We need to get you some pain reliever and I have to grab my mom’s lidocaine because the one in my bathroom has aloe vera in it and you’re allergic. Lydia, will you text my mom and ask her what antibiotic ointment to use for a second degree burn on the hand?” He rambled out of concern while they walked out of the cafeteria.

 

“You guys are making a way bigger deal out of this than it needs to be,” Stiles complained.

 

His best friend looked at him completely seriously, “You’re lucky I don’t drag you straight to my mom at work. You know I hate when you don’t take care of yourself or let us help you with things.”

 

“How did this even happen?” Lydia asked. She switched her sound on before she slipped her phone back into her pocket, so that she would know when Melissa McCall answered. “You grabbed a hot pan? I thought you were supposed to be with Peter last night, why didn’t he take care of this?”

 

Scott’s nose wrinkled as Stiles’ scent took a nosedive from the pained-anxious smell to sad. “What happened between you two?”

 

Lydia’s attention snapped toward Stiles’ face. “Something happened?” she asked.

 

Stiles sighed and went to open the driver’s side door to his Jeep before Scott grabbed his shoulders and spun him around the other way. Lydia put both her hands on his upper back and pushed him toward the backseat instead, even going as far as to help him in. “Nothing eve-“ He smacked Lydia’s hand lightly away from where she was trying to buckle him in. “Lydia, come on, I can do that.” He huffed and dropped his hands to his lap when she stared him down.

 

“Continue.”

 

“Look, I just grabbed a pan that was too hot while making dinner.”

 

He winced as Lydia shut his door loudly before stomping around to the other side of the Jeep. She was so short next to the Jeep that she disappeared momentarily before coming back into his line of sight, then getting in.

 

Lydia full-body turned to stare him down while Scott made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror and raised a pointed eyebrow as he shifted gears. “I think you were getting to the part about not taking care of that second-degree burn.”

 

“God, you’re so much like your mom sometimes,” Stiles muttered. No one else in the car seemed to care much about his observation. Stiles pressed his lips together and looked down at his lap. His friends watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he shrugged, the image of vulnerability.

 

“When I grabbed the hot pan, I dropped it… I broke some of Peter’s stuff. I tried to tell him it was an accident, but he didn’t care. He was pissed. He said that I shoved myself into his life without permission, and apparently he has to tolerate a lot, but I’m no longer something that’s tolerable,” Stiles licked his lips. “That I should find someone who cares that I have zero control... over my mouth or life. I’ve never seen him… He’s never wolfed out on me like that.”

 

Scott and Lydia were quiet for a moment. When Stiles looked up Scott was grinding his teeth while making a left turn into his driveway. “Come on.”

 

When they got inside they all crowded into Scott’s tiny bathroom where Scott made Stiles sit on the closed toilet seat.

 

It wasn’t until Scott headed toward his mom’s bathroom for the lidocaine that Lydia spoke. “I’m sorry he said those things, Stiles. You’re not lacking in control. You have the most self-control I’ve ever seen.” Scott came back in and held up the anesthetic crème with a small smile. “Enough to where you can hide second-degree burns from your best friends with minimal reactions to the pain, as stupid as that is.

 

“I don’t care what anyone says,” Lydia’s voice was as soothing as the motion of Scott taking care of his palm. “You don’t run your mouth like everyone seems to think, they just can’t keep up. The idea that you are barely tolerable is dated and entirely based on what? Growing up with people who hadn’t reached the emotional maturity to be able to handle you yet? Myself included until this shitstorm, unfortunately.” Lydia laughed wetly.

 

“Lydia Martin just said shit,” Stiles murmured. His smile was barely there but still eased the hand gripping Scott’s heart.

 

“Don’t go expecting that all the time now, I’m a classy lady of great intelligence.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Lydia’s phone chimed in the silence left behind. “Your mom said there’s a good antibiotic burn ointment in her first aid kit. She said to put clean gauze over the burn when you’re done, make sure it’s taped in place securely, and wrap around the area if you need to so it stays clean.”

 

Scott padded back out of the room without a word. Stiles stared at his socks instead of at Lydia. When Scott returned he got to work quietly, but he opened and closed his mouth several times as if wanting to speak.

 

“What, Scott?” Lydia asked, sounding exasperated.

 

“I just can’t believe he wolfed out on Stiles.” Scott breathed out heavily. “He never really loses it like that… Even when he’s angry it’s controlled. I’ve only ever seen him wolf out when he wants to. So, for him to actually lose control and around _Stiles._ ”

 

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean anything.” Stiles said, tone flat and hollowed out of any emotion they might have held before.

 

Lydia’s face softened into something sad. “Stiles…”

 

His eyes watered slightly, but he was only human, and so he looked up toward the bathroom lights to try and help blink them away. “I thought he. I thought _we…_ I’m not used to reading people wrong and it’s just a kick in the ass.”

 

Scott finished up the wrap around his hand before patting his wrist softly. “Is the pain reliever helping?”

 

“I can’t really tell yet, all the different creams on my hand tingle.”

 

“Alright.” Scott stood with a nod and an exhale. “Alright, come on.”

 

He grabbed Stiles’ bicep again and pulled him up off the toilet seat cover. It wasn’t until they were next to the werewolf’s bed that he went for the button on Stiles’ pants. “Um, Scott. What are you doing?”

 

“We’re taking a nap.”

 

“It’s the middle of the day and, hey! Now my feet are going to be cold!” Stiles yelped as his jeans and socks were pulled off.

 

“They won’t be.”

 

“Whatever, you furnace.” Stiles rolled his eyes fondly before it suddenly dropped into a serious face, and he looked to Scott, waiting. When he finally had his best friend’s attention he repeated himself, “ _Fur_ -nace.”

 

Scott groaned and shoved Stiles’ chest so he bounced on the mattress with an “oof.”

 

When all was said and done, Scott and Stiles ended up facing each other on the bed. Scott grabbed the human and tucked his head under his chin, even though Stiles was the taller one. Stiles wriggled before settling his face against Scott’s chest and letting all of his muscles relax. His hand was cradled between there bodies and safe from being bumped even while under the covers.

 

Lydia went through Scott’s dresser and stole a shirt before stepping into his bathroom to change. She came back missing her jacket and dress, instead wearing just his shirt. The blinds shut a moment later.

 

Stiles felt the bed dip behind him before she was scooting closer and pressing herself along his back.

 

“Kira just texted wondering where we went. I told her we’d see her tomorrow.” Lydia said. “I texted Isaac to tell him to be quiet on his way in.”

 

“Thanks.” Scott said, arms momentarily squeezing around his brother as if at the thought of letting go before then. She just hummed in response and Stiles let himself drift.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to let me know what you think and comment what you think should happen next! I'm not even sure what I'm doing yet, so your idea might just inspire me.


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